Rhythm
by Halfpenny
Summary: Admission sometimes comes at a heavy price. Yaoi.


**A/N/Di: **Also a subject of my mad editing spree. I will most likely be back in another couple of months to edit it again. I can't _stand _seeing crap that can be fixed.

**--rhythm  **

_fin 8/3/2k2 ed 5/28/2k3_

The rhythm was always there. At times he would halt to listen, more out of habit than necessity, for it never _left; _he could feel it when it guided his motions and accented the downbeats, and when the heat curled sensually around the overpowering aroma of damp leaves and overripe fruit; it was here It beckoned, sending moonlight scattering about the green as shadows cooled the undergrowth, dewdrops beading together to tumble down upon the mast, petulant. 

Never once did he dare look up, though the shudders racked his body and dusk cooled his sweat, nor when he threw back his head in ecstasy, the pulsing ache in synch with each step of the 

_dance_

as he fought for control. It was that same equilibrium that steadied the poise and turned to hover uncertainly over the void, and crumbled in the wake of adversary.

_--foolish child—_

And never did he ask Its name, though once or twice he felt the ghost of the appellation between his teeth before they ground together, and soon even that disappeared, allowing the whimpers to fade in the swell, and he could hear the rustle of the trees came the belated warning of the birds, hoarse on the wind, as the raucous applause of the incoming tide receded far below; clockwork. Jack faltered, allowing the unpitying cadence to race on ahead, and rose once to try and follow it. Something gasped. Hearing the discord, he relaxed once more and strengthened his stranglehold on the melody as it faded away to nothing, because neither had favored words when action was present

_--…--_

Gritting his teeth, Jack drew back, pulled it into a grunt as he rolled away. "Get up," he muttered.

A pause. Roger rolled onto his knees, gaze averted. Jack rose, impatient strides taking him from the cave and onto the ledges. Here the sea was loudest and most defiant. He drew in a deep breath, marveled at the way the air sparkled as the ocean set upon its restraints, working their way up them steadily.

"You're thinking about Ralph again."

He lifted a shoulder.

A pebble dislodged itself and skitted among the stones briefly. Roger had shifted his weight. "You shouted his name."

Heat traveled from his neck to his ears; he absently ran his fingers over his bare stomach, contemplating. "Old habits are hard to break," he admitted. A flicker of gold caught his attention, and he glanced downward.

The sign used to bring candles to mind, or the sight of pale hands rising to pale lips for the sake of

---

He frowned. 

"Of course, when there is no need…"

"I know." Come to think of it, he had never felt the peace; people in power were never named things like Mary, or John, or Jack, not _really_, and all it came down to was counterbalance, and _darkness_, relative or whatnot, with its completion without light (_was it possible?) _and then back to the counterbalance again, all the while the fingers continuing their light, rhythmic caress, undeterred by absurdity. "A whole tribe, Roger," he said, tugging at the cross absently, "to which I'm chief. I am chief, aren't I?"

"You are."

"I… I should have everyone. I should be at the top, I... I should have made sure he knew that, and. I should, I should…"

Moonlight shivered; Roger bowed his head, allowing the black hair to tumble forwards, shielding his eyes. "No one is above you. You are chief."

At this he turned. Carelessly retracing his steps, ignoring the pain as sharp edges dug fresh pockmarks into his heels, he gripped hold of the smaller boy's elbow and flung him to the floor of the cave. Roger didn't struggle as Jack thrust himself inside once more, nails finding cruel purchase in skin gritty with sand and sweat. "Damn right I'm chief," Jack hissed, "and don't you dare forget it. Not here, not for the rest of your life. I'll hunt for him tomorrow, me and my hunters, all of us will. We'll track him down and kill him, right then and there."

An undulating cry rose above the thunder of the tide. Snarling a curse, Jack disentangled himself, resting one foot upon a shoulder as he stood. It was a wasted effort; Roger made no attempt to move. "Who goes there?" he said sharply.

The shadows converged. He could now see the vague outline of two heads, disembodied against the inky background of the trees, which spoke simultaneously: "Samneric."

Jack squinted, then leaned back slightly, impatient. "Well, what is it? Speak up!"

There was a brief pause. He lifted his foot, and Roger rose, flexing the muscles in his upper arm. 

The twins began to babble.

"It's about Ralph, Chief—"

"—he came to us a little while back, see –"

"—we went along with him –"

"—pretended we were on his side –"

"—and he told us where he was going to hide… that rhymed, didn't it?"

"Where?" Jack demanded. Excitement pressed _rubato_ until he was up onto his toes, rocking. "Tell me!"

The hesitation was a beat too long. Roger stooped, sliding something off the ground. Experience had worn grooves deep into the grain and smoothed the wood until it held an unnatural sheen, polished and gleaming, and stained. 

The twins whimpered. 

"A place near the pig's head –"

"—a type of sanctuary –"

"—Simon used to go there, I think –"

"—yes, Simon…"

"—we can take you to it now, if you want—"

"It's too dark right now." Jack squinted out at the forest nevertheless, thumb absently rubbing his forefinger. "He's a coward –he'll run. We need to track him, not get lost in the dark."

He turned his gaze to Roger, who held it unflinchingly. "We'll keep our original plan," he murmured. "At sunrise, we head out. You'll lead us there." He returned his attention to the twins. "And if you're putting us on…"

They shook their heads as one, vigorously. 

"We're not, honest –"

"—we wouldn't lie to you –"

"—you're the chief –"

Jack smiled. It was empty. "If you don't get out of here right now," he began, and Roger stepped forward again, fingers tightening around his spear.

A violent parting of leaves and trees; Samneric fled. Jack remained where he stood, brooding.

Another night, perhaps, another day, perhaps, it didn't matter to him—this time, and all other times, for now until _forever, _he _promised, _Ralph would be the one coming to him at night, begging, pleading…

Pain flared in his palms. He uncurled his fists slowly, watching as black pooled in the lines and pattered onto stone. 

_the way he had shivered under his fingertips as his grip tightened, as their grip tightened, and caught the moonlight to flash in time with the _dance _each time they rose to take the challenge, _

_because neither favored words when action was present_

"Tomorrow, then," he said.

"Tomorrow," Roger echoed, and paused. He handed the spear to Jack. 

Jack nodded. His stomach pitched suddenly, lifting the beatto hammer beneath the pulse. Roger touched a hand to his forehead once, casually, and left, weaving between the ivy vines. Jack watched him disappear, and turned, strides lengthening, past the ledge and onto the rocks of the overhang and sending pebbles sliding off into the sea. Something inside him, a voice that was reasonable and increasingly unfamiliar murmured a warning. 

The Chief smiled bitterly. Reaching to his neck, he tore away the chain, ignoring the bitter protest of abraded skin, and flung it out to the sea. It flashed once, candle-like, before the night lost sight of it and surrendered it to the sea, whispering approval. 

never once did he look back

.


End file.
